


Curiouser and Curiouser.

by Sigyn_Stories



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Genius Harry, M/M, Mentor/Protégé
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2019-10-25 09:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17722661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigyn_Stories/pseuds/Sigyn_Stories
Summary: Harry is more then just a wizard; he's a genius and a tinkerer. So what happens when he meets another genius the beginning of his third year? One that deduces Harry's treatment at the Dursleys in less then a minute? The answer; Quite a lot, apparently... And London, magical and non-magical will never be the same. Mentor!Sherlock/Protege!Harry





	1. Bravery and Curiosity.

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Potter belongs to JKR and Warner brothers. Sherlock belongs to Sir ACD and BBC. I reserve the right to laugh in the face of anyone that thinks I make money off of this story... Cause I don't! 
> 
> This story was first posted on my Fanfiction.net account, i am currently bringing all of my stories here.
> 
> The timeline for Harry Potter and Sherlock have been changed for this fic. This story takes place in 2008, Set in the beginning of POA (3rd year) for Harry Potter and season one of Sherlock (Right after The Blind Banker).
> 
> I don't have a Beta at the moment, so if you see anything that needs to be corrected or changed, please let me know, and i will do so!

** Chapter 1; Bravery and Curiosity. **

Harry remembered exactly when it started. His fascination with how the world worked.

Dudley was having his 6th birthday party. Harry had gotten a hold of one of the noise makers that all the other children had. A little plastic thing, not even worth a pound. It made a funny noise when you blew into it. Aunt Petunia was livid when she saw he had gotten one of the toys. But there had been other people around. She couldn't do anything about in front of company. But Dudley could do something. He grabbed it from Harry and tossed it to the ground. He stomped down hard on it and broke the little fragile thing into pieces. He had a good laugh about it with his friends, then left Harry to his misery. Harry, now alone, picked up the broken pieces and tried to salvage what he could. After a minute or two of tinkering around he discovered that the main part of the noise maker was still intact. After breaking away the plastic casing on both sides and fiddling with it a bit he got the noise maker to work again.

It didn't sound exactly as it did before, but it was close enough that Harry wasn't sad anymore. He hid his toy away in his large pockets before anyone saw that he had fixed it. Later that night he retired to his cupboard under the stairs. He placed it next to his little pewter wizard toy. It instantly became one of his most treasured possessions.

That was the moment it all began. Something in Harry had awoken. Something in him had sparked and come to life when he had seen the INSIDE of the noise maker. When he learned that even without the plastic case thing covering it, it still made noise...

Harry's thirst for knowledge had begun.

He began to wonder about things… Electricity, cars, microwaves, computers, everything. How things worked, how they were made, and what changes he could make to them so they worked better.

It was hard for Harry to get anywhere the first few years. Whenever he would ask Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia about how things worked, they would always yell at him. "Don't ask questions!" or "They just do!"

Luckily there was Miss. Figg down the street, and the teachers at school. While he didn't get to ask them all the time, the times he did ask they were more than happy to answer him. He learned quite a lot, but it always lead to him wanting to know more.

Before long Harry held the title of the most curious boy in school.

* * *

Harry received his Hogwarts letter. Then a wand, owl, and robes. He was then let lose in a magical book store all on his eleventh birthday. He was in heaven. Hagrid was happy with how well he was accepting magic into his life. He answered as many questions as he could. But what made Harry's birthday unforgettable was when he returned to Number 4.

He now had a wand, dozens and dozens of books on magic and ENTIRE room full of Dudley's old toys and broken things. With 3 weeks to go before school began. He grinned from ear to ear as he took to the rubble in his room like a fish to water.

The Dursleys said nothing when Harry returned Dudley's repaired items back to him. All looking brand new.

But when he fixed Dudley's old computer and was caught trying to use it, they immediately took it away. Then Dudley broke it a second time out of shear spite. They decided it was easier just to let Harry keep the worthless old thing. Their Dudders already had a better computer of his own after all, and that was what mattered.

Right?...

* * *

It was the summer after 2nd year; He, Ron, and (by way of a ripped page) Hermione had saved Ginny and closed the chamber of secrets.

Harry was still known as the most curious boy in school, but this time the school was Hogwarts. While he didn't live in the library like Hermione, He was well-known for his 'Tinkering.'

While only in his first few years at school, Harry had already charmed an old snowboard into a 'Hover board', made an object that was a logical cross between a quill and a pen, fixed up over half of the school's old brooms, and repaired or restored any broken items that students would bring him. Even if it took begging a teacher for information on how to fix it.

There was no object big or to small that Harry wouldn't look at and try to figure out.

Hours spent in the clock tower and the great hall just staring upwards for inspiration where proof enough of that. It was just who Harry was. Everyone, even Ron, Neville and Dumbledore accepted it.

But it was an odd website that Harry found while web-surfing late night that summer, (On Dudley's old computer he repaired a long time ago) That gripped Harry's attention and held his fascination for hours on end... A website that would end up changing his entire life.

'The science of Deduction.' Owned by one  _Sherlock Holmes._


	2. Introductions and Curiosity.

_10:16 P.M. Jun 10th_

To: Sherlock H

From: Wizkid95

** Subject: Further Information **

Good evening.

I was surfing through the Internet encyclopedia of philosophy, when I caught a look at a tab called 'Deductive Reasoning.' (right next to inductive, go figure...) I read the page, and found myself interested. I ran a web search to find out more. After finding a few colorless and useless pages, I managed to stumble upon your site.

I have to say, I felt like I hit the jack pot.

Your website explained more of the principles and uses of deductive reasoning than any other I have managed to come across. It gives a better idea of how helpful deduction could be, IF used actively. I do have a few questions though, which is why I am writing. I hope you don't mind.

First; are there any other laws or guidelines that one should follow while studying or using deduction? Ones that you didn't already put on your site, I mean. I read your 'Introduction to deduction' page. The tips and tricks where helpful. But it seemed to be missing one or two of the processes one should go through while learning or using deduction.

Second, is there any kind of exercises one could do that would help learn deduction quicker? Help them become quicker at it? I know that the best way to learn is to _see and observe on your own._  (Got a kick out of that line, BTW.) I figured I'd ask, just in case.

Lastly, about the 'mind palace' memory technique that you use to organize information. I get that it is a meditative technique, but how do you go about constructing one? Do you start layer by layer, from scratch? Or should you try to organize what information you already have, and mold those into your base? Should you treat your memories as information as well, or are they separate?

Hope you didn't find this too forward or too much of a bother. Hope to read your reply soon.

~Wizkid

* * *

_10:26 P.M. Jun 10th_

To: Wizkid95

From: Sherlock H

** Subject: Re; Further Information **

Your questions are not a bother at all and are, in fact, quite welcome at this time. I find myself without a case, and would prefer answering the questions of an inquisitive 13-year-old mind rather than surrender myself to the boredom that will surely set in soon. I will gladly answer you.

But before that; you are probably wondering how I knew you were thirteen… It was easily deduced. Allow me to explain; your grammar was sound and your wording quite proper, giving no real indication of your age. But your use of slang (Your 'go figure', 'got a kick', and the most telling 'BTW',) indicates a young adult... But how young was given away by your site username.

Wizkid95.

Wizkid is obvious. How many thirteen-year-olds browse through the  _Internet Encyclopaedia of Philosophy?_  At ten at night no less? Intelligent ones… So you not only know you are intelligent, but are proud of the fact… Proud enough to make a username out of it. But it was the 95 that gave you away.

Why put 95 on your username? For 1995. Couldn't be the year you graduated, or an anniversary. Far too young for that… so it must be a birth year. Your birth year. Since we are in the middle of 2008, it is safe to assume that you are 13.

Thank you for the complements to my website, also. I also found the other websites explaining deduction to be drab and useless, filled with non-relevant information. I barely even bother with them nowadays.

But enough of that; on to your questions. Yes, there are a few laws that can, and should apply when using deduction that I left out of the "Introduction to deduction" page. Good job on spotting that. I wanted to keep two of the laws of deduction off the website. This was in order to keep idiots from running around, claiming to be masters of deduction after simply reading my page... So far it has worked out nicely.

The two laws left out are as follows:

_Law of Syllogism;_  The Law of Syllogism states that two or more conditional statements can form a conclusion by combining the hypothesis of one statement with the conclusion of another.

If G equals Q, and Q equals K, then G must also equal K.

Example;

One student is sick and will be absent from class. (G)

If any student is absent, they will miss the day's lesson. (G=Q)

Any students that miss a lesson will have make-up work. (Q=K)

The one sick student will have make-up work when they return to school. (G=K)

Using this law one can literally form a chain of conclusions, all from one beginning deduction. One fact leads logically into another and another. Even so, they all stay connected.

_The law of validity;_  The law of Validity states that an argument could be valid and it's premises true, even when it's conclusion is false.

Example;

Everyone who eats salad is a vegetarian.

Derek is eating salad, not meat.

Derek is a vegetarian.

The argument could be valid, and its premise could be true... But the first conclusion is obviously false. Not EVERYONE who eats a salad is a vegetarian. But the premise of Derek eating a salad and the argument of him being a vegetarian are still valid, if not certain. You cannot say for certain that Derek Is a NOT vegetarian, now can you?

Secondly; as for the training exercises for deduction; the only real training is to actively deduce. I suggest starting close to home, with family and neighbors. Then strangers. One of my favorite ways to practice is to sit in a restaurant and look out a window, deducing the people who walk by. Concentrate on accuracy first. Speed will come with time.

On another note, I find Sudoku to be quite effective in helping to sharpen the mind. Crossword puzzles as well. They fire all the right parts of the brain, as well as hone problem solving skills.

And as for the mind palace; DON'T. It is a highly involved meditative technique that should not be tried until you have a firm foothold. Study and get a feel for basic mediation first. When you have progressed enough, I will tell you all about the mind palace and its workings. Until then, don't attempt it.

Best of luck. Be sure to stick with it.

~SH

P.S; Keep me informed of your progress. I'm interested to see how you fare.

* * *

_11:02 pm, Jun 10th_

To: Sherlock H

From: Wizkid95

** Subject: Re; Re; Further Information. **

Thanks!

For the quick reply, the Info and everything. I'm going to start my 'Training' tomorrow. I'll try to send an update every week, until I go back to school. I won't have access to my account then.

~Wizkid

_P.S;_  I'm 12. I won't be 13 until the end of July.

* * *

_11:05 P.M, Jun 10th_

To: Wizkid95

From: Sherlock H

** Subject: re; re; re; Further Information **

_12?!_  Oh, of course, we're only halfway through the year.

There's always something...


	3. Murders and Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A panicked E-mail from Wiz-kid sends Sherlock and John to Surrey; and sets them on the heels of a new case.

 

Harry rubbed his temples as he glared at his computer screen. He had to stay calm and relaxed while he typed this e-mail. If he didn't, his magic would fizzle and crackle then the screen would go blank. While the powerful wards of Hogwarts would stop any and all electronic devices from working inside the grounds... and most of the surrounding town... Here at Number 4 Harry was the only magical variable.

As long as he kept his cool, all plugged-in devices and appliances should work as intended. The moment he'd let slip, lights would flash and glass would burst... Magic unleashed. And currently, he was pretty bloody upset.

Harry took a calming breath as he forced his emotions to settle. He tried to think back to where his troubles all began.

The last three weeks had been amazing to start with. He had read and re-read Sherlock's page and his advice. After making sure to take detailed notes on it, He started his 'training.' As Sherlock suggested he started at home with the Dursleys. His uncle, it seemed, was more of a creature of habit than Harry had ever thought. His actions and wants where almost timed to the second.

Awake at 7:00. Shower at 7:10. Dressed and pressed by 7:45. Seated at breakfast table for coffee at 7:50. Paper and mail until 8:00, when he would finally eat.

Dudley would waddle in somewhere around 8:00. Petunia would hover around the kitchen like she had actually cooked in it. But the fact remained; Vernon was the clock by which they all ticked.

Even Harry himself.

He was the one that would get Vernon his coffee from the pot Petunia made at 7:50. He would get the mail and paper for him at 7:51. Then cook/serve him breakfast before serving Dudley and eating himself as well. Harry could only wince when he thought about how that reflected on Vernon's authority in the household.

It was only when Harry looked outside of number 4, to the other houses on Privet Drive that things got bad.

The husband in Number 2 and wife of Number 5 where having an affair. (lipstick, sneaking around, shooing the kids off the friend`s houses for 'Alone time' and the sudden change in work shifts were more than proof enough.) Number 7 and Number 1 were both on the fast route to a divorce. Number 6 had a sudden increase in income that didn't come from the husbands work. Inheritance or the husbands gambling problem finally paying off, Harry assumed.

Also, the teenage girl at number 6 was sleeping with an abusive, muscled motorcyclist. But that was only to protect herself from the advances of her stepfather... and most disgusting of all was his uncle, who he was sure was carrying on an affair of his own with someone at Grunting's.

Harry decided that All Privet drive, the whole bloody lot was horrible. But then, if it were possible, it got even WORSE.

Dudley's best friend Piers and Mr. Vossler, two of Harry's childhood tormentors, where murdered. Murdered two days apart from one another. Mr Vossler got strangled to death outside of the neighborhood tavern. Same tavern he went to pretty much every night. Piers got beaten to death right in the rec yard of Stonewall High that Wednesday morning.

Thus why Harry was close to panicking...

Everyone in Privet Drive was up in arms; even Petunia and Vernon. Even though there was nothing linking the two murders together yet. Everyone had lost their bloody heads over it.

People also knew Piers and Mr. Vossler spent a great deal of time making Harry's younger years hell. They had no problem pointing the finger at him... Especially Dudley. He took the death of his right hand man to heart. He made it his mission to tell anyone that would listen that Harry had done it.

Harry HAD been the subject of rumor and speculation before... But this was ridiculous. He was NOT a murderer. He was, however, the creepy rag-wearing juvenile delinquent from Number 4 who had spent the last two weeks closely observing everyone on the entire block... Needless to say, the odds were not in his favor.

As much as he hated to admit it, he needed Sherlock's and John's help. He let out one last calming breath of air, and took to his keyboard.

"Alright, Internet explorer; don't fail me now." He murmured under his breath.

He just hoped that he worded his e-mail right... and that he didn't blow up his only computer in the process.

* * *

Three weeks into his training, and the kid had yet to give up...

Sherlock looked at the un-opened message in his inbox and hummed in interest. When the 12-year-old had first contacted him, Sherlock wondered how the boy would fare. Or wondered how far he would get before quitting. Whichever. Now, after 3 weeks of work and not the slightest sign of letting up, Sherlock found that he was… Well...  _pleased_  would be the right word, he assumed. Emotion removed, of course.

Still, this young one had a feeling of promise about him. Sherlock began to think the kid might become a master of deduction after all… In a few more years, of course. He clicked 'open' on the newest message from Wizkid95.

He quickly browsed over the E-mail, written in polite but still young tone that Wizkid had. His steel grey eyes spotting key phases easily as he narrowed down the e-mail into a few important points...

The young man was improving steadily on his deductive abilities;  _Impressive._

The Sudoku was paying off, but crosswords will still a bother for him;  _Understandable._

And he was upset that he recently realized that his Uncle was cheating on his Aunt, more than likely with a woman from work...  _Secretary,_  Sherlock deduced quickly.

_His Uncle; Middle aged, middle management, with a stay-at-home wife and two or more kids at home? Of course it was his Secretary. A co-worker wouldn't bother, and an office maid wouldn't dare risk her job..._

Then Wizkid's e-mail got very interesting. Sherlock browsed through the first line and a half before he stopped and went back, to read it in its entirety.

_But I didn't just write to keep you updated this time. To tell you the truth; I think I've found a case for you. There have been two murders in my neighborhood recently, one fairly worrying, but the other... Well, it's just weird._

_The first was a strangulation outside the local pub. The Guys name was Patrick Vossler and he lived at house number 10 on our street. He was mean bloke, and an even meaner drunk. The second murder was a kid who used to go to school with me and my Cuz; Piers. He lives at Number 15 down the street._

_He was 13, and his body was found in the local public school's rec yard Wednesday morning... Stonewall High. Thing is, Piers never even went to Stonewall! He's boarded at Smelting's Boarding school the past two years! And it's **summer.**  I know for a fact that Piers avoids schools like the plague this time of year._

_Add in that there is a park down the street, and the rec yard is a good two miles further down and… Well, I don't like it._

_People on the block seem to think the murders are linked. I'm not too sure... But Pier's murder just isn't adding up for me. Something feels wrong about it. Figured I'd let you know, and hope you'd check it out._

_BTW: It's_ _Privet drive. in Little Whinging, Surrey_. _Hope to see you here!_

_~Wizkid_

Sherlock blinked twice, and read the E-mail again.

_Two murders, both at night. Different crimes scenes, Different victims, causes of death separate but deliberate, one under unusual circumstances._

_Ether two murderers had hit at around the same time... or this was the work of a SERIAL KILLER!_

_God, he loved those! Always something to look forward to._

A small but wicked smile graced his lips as he suddenly jumped up from his chair. He moved swiftly out of the flat's door, and just as quickly started to don his coat.

"JOHN, grab your jacket! We've got a case!" He yelled back into the apartment as he fastened his buttons.

"Wha... Where?!" A rough and annoyed voice yelled back from the kitchen where he was making tea.

"In SURREY, John! SURREY!"


	4. Information and curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock arrive at Surrey in search of information... and Wizkid.

Sherlock drove the rental car as his doctor sat in the passenger seat next to him. John was reading the last lines of the online article he had hunted down on his laptop.

". _..The young boy's funeral will be held tomorrow at noon at McMullen's funeral home, Little Whinging._  That's all it says."

"And that's not enough; not  _NEARLY_  enough!" Sherlock scowled. "They are deliberately keeping information out of the papers. Probably think it's safer to keep it under wraps if it really IS a serial killer." John hummed and nodded in agreement.

"Also, this murder isn't like the other one at all." John added as he shut his laptop and looked to Sherlock. "You really think these two might be linked? A bludgeoning and strangulation?"

"Not sure... The method is different, as are the victims, True. But both murders occurred at night-time a few days from one another. In the same area, as well. There's not enough to determine if it's the same murderer just yet.  _I need more data_!" Sherlock spat, as his intense gaze turned on the road. As if he blamed the street for not already arriving at their destination.

"Coincidence, Maybe...?" The army doctor said softly as he gave a hopeful look at best mate. Sherlock huffed coldly.

"I don't believe in coincidence, John... You know that." John's face fell at those words.

"Right... Forgot, SO, We're going to go to Privet Drive to poke around. Looking for two separate killers working in the same place a serial killer in his own hunting ground."

"Don't discount the possibility that there could be two murderers that have decided to work together. Unlikely but still probable."

John gave a long-suffering as he slumped back in his seat.

"Wow. Great..." John breathed, as subconsciously padded a hand to his side. Somehow feeling that his service revolver was tucked away, right where he placed it, making him feel slightly better. "That's just  _great_..."

** -Harry; Number 4- **

Harry put his hands on his sides, as he looked over the mess that was his room.

There was garbage, bits and pieces, as well as tinkerings and inventions on every surface and all about the floor. He didn't want anyone to find them. Just his luck, with Dudley being the loud mouth that he was, the Police might even come. Even if it was just to question him. He had also sent an emergency E-Mail to Sherlock, and even though he hadn't got a reply, he still hoped he might come to Privet drive eventually. Heaven KNOWS the trouble he would get into if he broke the statue of secrecy... He had to take care of this mess, and NOW.

"Got to hurry, Got to hurry, got to hurry!" Harry said to him. He struggled to figure out where to even begin.

He decided that the first thing he should do is take all of his old books and papers out of his truck. They were taking up far too much truck space, and he needed that to hide the more magical things away... He leaped into that task hands-first. All of his school books had brown paper covers with fake titles on them, anyway. For example;  _Horticulture_  for his herbology books.  _Science_  for transfiguration.  _Latin_  for charms,  _chemistry 1, 2, and 3_  for his potions books, Etc. No one would know that they were magic books unless they actually opened them and read them. It was part of a deal he made with his Aunt and Uncle after he came home first year, so he could do his homework during the summer. Otherwise, they were going to lock his books away. He was glad for it now.

He piled the books into towers on top of his desk, with the spines facing out. You could only see the brown paper and the titles, nothing more.. Perfect! He turned to move on to his next task, but stopped... He went back to the desk and switched the books around so the most boring books where on top ( _History_ , and  _Astronomy_ ). He hoped that would be enough to put people off from grabbing and flipping through. He quickly moved on to picking things up off the floor.

A pile of little black quill sharpeners and Quill-pens where the first to be stuffed into his truck. His 'hover board' was next. It was the size of a skate board, just a little thicker with no wheels, so it fit easily into the compartment. Colin's new camera and old camera where after that. Colin didn't need them this summer, and Harry wanted to figure out how to get the new one to work at Hogwarts like the old one did. Colin was more than happy to agree. The Anti-tangle brush Lavender asked him to make for her was next, as well as a never-empty ink well Hermione had helped him complete last year. Everything and anything magical that couldn't be seen by the public made its way into the school truck, and what didn't fit was hidden under the floorboard near his bed.

The last item to be tucked away was an animated rubber duck he made for Mr. Weasley. It had been sent back to him for repairs. It still moved around on its own, dove when in the tub, and "QUACKED" just fine... But it had become overly attached to its owners. Mr Ducky would follow Mr and Mrs Weasley around the Burrow quacking for attention for hours on end. Harry had to find a way to calm it down, or Mrs. Weasley was going to toss the poor thing in the rubbish bin. Both Mr. Weasley and Harry decided that was not an option…

He got on his hands and knees in front of the desk, where he had made a little 'Duck House" out of old daily prophets. He whistled and made 'Nic Nic Nic' noises with his mouth to call it out, but the duck seemed to be happy sleeping in his paper hideaway. Harry sighed as he laid down flat in front of the desk, and drummed his fingers on the floor..

He had himself a little predicament now… After all, how do you Coax a Rubber duck out of hiding? Harry huffed…

He really didn't have time to play around with Mr. Ducky. He had to finish his room soon... He needed to get the duck to move somehow... A light bulb turned on in his head. He walked over to where a few more Daily prophets where laying, and quickly started to fold and ball a few up around his hand. He then got back on the floor, and ripped open an opening on the other side of paper as he boot-camp crawled back under the desk.

"Mr. Ducky, I got you a new home." Harry said, in what he hoped was a friendly voice. There was silence… Then a curious QUACK. Harry smirked.

"Yep, a whole new house... A brand new place to stay. Made it just for you! Why don't you come out a see it?" Another quack came from inside the duck house, and then, slowly, Mr. Ducky peeked out from the opening. Harry smiled, as he motioned to the paper wrappings that covered and hid his hand.

"Right here… Come on, then. Rent free, you can move right in!" Harry said as the duck looked the new 'house" over. He waddled himself over to the new mess of papers. He started looking it over carefully. Waddling over to left and right, blinking his little plastic eyes at it. But when he the poked his head around the door, Harry's hand quickly flew out and nabbed the duck up.

A violent series of quacks, squeaks, crumpling and ripping paper ensued as Harry fought his way up. He quickly took the furiously flapping rubber duck over to other side of the room. He stuffed him into an old bird-cage that Dudley once owned, and slammed the cage door shut behind him.

"BAGGED HIM! YESS!" Harry cheered to himself, smiling proudly.

He covered the cage completely with the cloth that he usually used for Hedwig's cage during long trips. The duck squeaked one last time in protest as the fabric was draped over the bars. Harry could only laugh at the oddity and sheer ridiculousness of what just happened.

But if the glare coming from the owl in the other cage, and the angry quacking coming from the covered cage next to it were any indication, Hedwig and Mr. Ducky were not amused...

* * *

Sherlock and John drove straight to the Little Whining police station when they arrived. Sadly, the officers where even bigger idiots then the ones in Scotland Yard. (At least in Sherlock's option.) They outright refused to give Sherlock any information or access to the crime scene or evidence at all.

This hadn't gone over well with the renowned genius, or the harassed detective that was in charge of the case. The older, flat faced man wanted Sherlock nowhere near his case, and was making a point to be as rude and unhelpful as possible. This quickly turned into a screaming match inside the detective's office.

John stood outside, keeping ear towards the fight as he chatted with a few of the sergeants and others on duty at the station. It seemed while the main detective was tight-lipped, the murders where the only things any of the other officers were talk about. After John made a point to let them know he wasn't from the papers, and meet another Afghanistan vet, (Private, first class Gregson) they were more than happy to let him in the know. John made sure to write everything in his notepad as he conversed and moved from one officer to another.

"The first crime scene was neat; No blood at all really. Almost looked like the poor bloke just passed out while walking out behind the pub. Quiet like, you know? If it wasn't for the weird bruises around his neck, we never would have known until the body was examined..."

"Weird bruises?"

"Yes, patterned bruises, all around his neck... Happens all the time when a Vic is choked out from behind. Not entirely sure what did it, but it was NOT a rope. Not any rope I've seen, anyway." Said one Officer.

"The second scene was a bloody mess." Started one of the two only female officers, as she got ready for roll call. "Blood was all over the place. Kid's face and head all bashed up. Something out of a nightmare, almost. It was obvious he put up a hell of a fight. But it was no use... The perp took his time letting the kid die, too. More than half of the blood on-scene was dry by the time we got there, but the kid's body was still a bit warm. Must have laid there, bleeding out since midnight. The Docs set his TOD at 4. No weapons or weird bruises here, just the injuries from the beating he took. Hands and feet only."

"Feet?"

"Oh, yea, from the looks of his ribs and midsection, he got kicked more than a few times."

All of this, and a bit more, John recorded in his handy little notepad. Sherlock stormed out of the detective's office, leaving a furious but wounded man behind. John gave a look to Sherlock that said he knew that he had deduced and rigorously insulted the poor man, and that he was going to talk with him about it later. Sherlock just huffed and continued walking on. John jogged briskly to him, and started walking in step with his partner in (solving) crime.

"You know, Sherlock... You don't have to wreck the self-esteem of EVERYONE that doesn't do what you want." John said conversationally.

"I have no idea what you mean..." Sherlock said, not wavering a bit as they weaved in and out of maze of desks the police station had.

"Yes you do." John said, sounding a bit annoyed. "Whenever someone doesn't do what you what, or give you something, OR work fast enough for your liking, you attack them... Not just insult, attack."

Sherlock smirked a little. "I'm sure it may seem that way to you, John, but I assure you, it's not."

"Yes, it is. It's to deliberate for it not to be. You get annoyed people don't do what you want them to, so you attack them with the sharpest, bluntest, most destructive weapon you have..."

"Oh? And what is that?" Sherlock said, no longer trying to hide his amused smile as they walked out the front of the station's door.

"Your mind, Sherlock; Your mind. You  _Deduce and Destroy,_  and you really need to stop it."

Sherlock turned, as if to confront John for what he just said, when John cut him off by lifting his notepad in front of him, almost right under his nose.

"The second crime scene was completely different from the first. Blood was all over the Rec yard, the murderer and victim had themselves a nasty fight before the Vic lost. The murder wanted Piers to suffer. He left him alone to bleed out, slowly. The first murder was clean, no suffering. The Vic had something wrapped around his throat by someone standing behind him. He falls to his knees, chokes, stops breathing and dies. Quick, nearly painless, and quiet. But get this; The thing used to choke him? Not a rope, and left a 'Weird bruise pattern' on his neck."

Sherlock's jaw dropped as John smiled proudly back at him.

"What... Just… But... John, how did you get that information?"

"I asked for it. While you were arguing behind closed doors, I chatted with the officers that were at the scenes." Sherlock somehow managed to look even more insulted.

"He's an old, lazy, telly addict that only sees these murders as a way for him to get the title of Chief without really having to work for it." Sherlock snapped, "Now why would they give all of that information to you?!"

"Because unlike you, I'm a good person." John smirked. He knew he had won this argument. "Quit insulting people, Sherlock. It's getting you nowhere."

Sherlock blinked as he seemed to think over John's words. Before he could think of a reply, three officers and the detective that Sherlock was at war with ran out of the building and into their squad cars. Sherlock started running as well, to their rented sedan.

"What happened?" John asked the female officer he was taking to earlier, as she ran out the door as well.

"Another murder.. This time in their own home!"

"What?! Where? Who?!" John yelled, as he starting running to the car and Sherlock was already starting up.

"NUMBER 13, PRIVET DRIVE!" The officer yelled over the engines and (now) squealing tires. "THE HOUSE OF ARABELLA FIGG!"


	5. Meetings and Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John get closer and closer.

He carefully washed the last of the blood off of his hands. He had to be extra careful these next few days. The police were already on to him... Even more so because he had killed Figg inside her own house. The coppery red stains of blood faded to a light pink as it swirled down the sink. An eerily pleased smile crossed his face as he watched the last bit evidence of his crime literally go down the drain.

His work was done now; He had finished want he had set out to do... And DAMN, did it feel good. His eerie smile snaked into a sinister smirk. He looked at his reflection in the darkened bathroom and was pleased with what he saw. Himself. relaxed. HAPPY.

It had been years and years since he had felt like this. Scratch that, possibly his entire life. His childhood was pathetic, to say the least, through no fault of his own. His teenage years were no better. His adult life had been livable... At least up until recently. His smirk fell as his face darkened with his thoughts.

He had never turned to outside sources before, Like alcohol or drugs, to deal with his issues. Any small amount of drinking he did do alleviated nothing and he wasn't about to allow himself to become one of those addicts he saw on the streets. That was for bloody sure. Even those lousy therapists his wife had tried to send him to for years did nothing for him. Except maybe to annoy and anger him more...

Always saying HE was the problem, HE was the one to blame for all his problems and anger issues... HE should accept responsibility. Like a pathetic schoolboy who needed to be taught how to behave.

After all of these years, he had assumed that nothing would ever get rid of it. That roaring anger that had built up in his chest since childhood... The resentment, the injustice of all he had suffered as a child. The poison boiling in his veins, the sickness growing in his mind. That  _THEY_  had placed there. That  _THEY_  had forced into his system as a child, that did nothing but grow.

Even after he married, it stayed just under his skin... The violent urges. The hate. The disgust. He had learned to accept it, and adapt. But no one understood that it  _wasn't his fault_! He didn't want to be like this, he didn't make himself this way... It was  _their_  fault... It was all  _their_  fault. Not his.

He was  _NOT_ the one to blame!

He had taught himself how to bottle it up and calm it down a long time ago, but every now and then it would leak out. He would spread his hate and disgust like fire. But he would always gain back his control. In the end, he would always win against it. Still, his wife and everyone else would use that as an excuse to show just how "bad" he was getting, or how dangerous he had become...

Didn't they realize that if it wasn't for his restraint, any of his breaks could have been much, much worse? Did they give him credit at least for that?... No, they didn't.

He was the one that suffered these hateful urges for years. In a way, He was a victim of them as well. And nothing he did, Nothing he had ever tried had gotten them to subside.

At least not until last Monday... When he choked Vossler to death. His smile returned.

The man had been drunk. Staggering, stinking and shouting abuse at everything. The normal things he did on one of his drink bingeing nights... But then he said something unforgivable. Something he just couldn't let go... Something his father used to spit at him, over and over. He had snapped.

He didn't even realize that he was choking the man to death until he was already dead... Until his body had hit the floor. The anger and hate had blinded him to what he was doing until it was far too late to take it back. He left the scene of the murder right after he had come back down to earth. He left the body on the ground, grabbed what he had used to choke the man, and went straight home... It wasn't until later that he realized that he had felt better than he had in years.

Something about killing Vossler had gotten the poison out of his system.

That was the start of it. Because, he wondered to himself, If killing just one of  _THEM_  did that, would kill the other  _THEMS_  feel like?...

Now, Piers and that pathetic woman Figg where dead as well, also by his hand, and more and more of his rage and anger was gone... And he felt  _GOOD_...

Years of those pathetic therapists who didn't understand it wasn't HIS FAULT hadn't helped. Years with his wife who blamed him for everything and wanted him to change everything about himself for her hadn't helped. Living with the rage and poison in his mind, boiling under the skin while trying to be quiet and well-mannered on the outside hadn't helped, either...

Only getting rid of those pathetic fools did... Strangling Vossler, beating the living daylights out of Piers... And Figg! What he had done to Figg! Oh, that was his crowning moment... That was a true work of art. It made the rage go away and lifted all that filth and dirt of his past off his shoulders.

The Filth and Dirt that the years with  _THEM_  had left him with...

The killing was the only thing that worked.

He felt years younger. Relaxed. Vindicated. Also more than a little smug.

He was better at it now, too. He had been careful and more than clever. Except maybe with the first murder. He was also sure he would never, ever get caught. Everyone was pointing their fingers at that odd Potter boy, so who was he to tell them different?... Besides, who would believe it? A boy who went to St. Brutus' for 9 months out of the year, vs. him? A working-class family man?

Besides, his work was done and over now. He wouldn't have to murder again... Not now that the 'three' were dead. All he had to do was just sit back and let the worthless rat-looking brat take the fall for him.

Outside of the bathroom window, He could hear the police sirens. Heading right toward Figg's house...

He turned off the spout as the water was running clear off his hands now, then grabbed a towel off the bathroom shelf. He walked to his bathroom window to look out just in time to see the first few police cars pulling up to number 13.. and an unmarked car that wasn't supposed to be here parking with them. He saw two men get out of the car. One tall and dark hair who looked like a tosser to him with a stocky blonde wearing a neo-military jacket and jumper right on his heels...

He narrowed his eyes hatefully at the two new intruders. They weren't supposed to be here. That much was obvious.

He didn't like the idea of these new players being added to the game. He didn't like that at all...

Not... One... Bit...

* * *

Gregory Lestrade sighed at the same time Daniel Dimmock slumped bonelessly in the passenger seat. Anderson and Donovan continued to scream at one another in the back seat of his car... like they had screamed at one another non-stop for the last few hours. Both Detective Inspectors finally had enough of trying to get them to behave and had just decided to let them yell.

He really had no idea WHAT had gotten into those two; they had been fine during the entire cold case convention; They had even roomed together. But as soon as they packed up and left to go home, Donovan started getting at Anderson about everything. Soon, he started back at her. And now the air of malice and hate was so thick in the back seat that Lestrade was contemplating the benefits of tossing them both on their arses and making them find their own way back to London.

From the look on his much younger comrades face, Dimmock was thinking the same thing...

Lestrade realized that he was, once again, dealing with children. Or adults acting like children. Not much difference.

His phone rang loudly, breaking his train of through and cutting off the bickering from the backseat. Greg quickly grabbed it, happy to have an excuse to ignore the yelling duo.

"D.I. Lestrade here."

_"Good evening, Inspector..."_  called a silky, aristocratic voice from the other side of the line. The hair on the back of Lestrade's neck stood on end as Goosebumps went down his arms. He knew that voice... He made an effort not to just hang up, and toss the phone away... But knowing his own temper and aim, he was sure it would just find its way to Anderson's head.

"Mycroft?..." He asked out loud. Though he already knew the answer. Mycroft Holmes was not the kind of man one easily forgot after meeting him.. And Lestrade had met him, many times, over the last five years...

_"Well caught, Gregory... I was hoping to call you before you made your way past Surrey. Tell me, did I catch you in time?..."_

Gregory went to open his mouth to tell him yes when he noticed a sign on the left side of the car.  **'Surrey, Five miles.'**  Lestrade locked his jaw as he bristled inwardly.

That uppity, slimy, know-it-all...

"I think you know very well that you have," Lestrade said, the commanding bark he was known for coming back into his voice. He was NOT going allow himself to be intimidated by Sherlock's older brother... He was NOT! "Now, what do you want?"

_"My brother seems to have grabbed up his comrade and taken a rental car to Surrey... It seems there has been a series of murders in the area that have captured his interest."_

"Really? Good for him... Everyone needs a break from London every now and again." Lestrade replied, with no small amount of sarcasm. Sherlock could look after himself, and besides, he had John with him now. Lestrade may not approve of many of Sherlock's people, The drugs dealers and street boys he paid to keep an eye and ear out for him; But John he liked. John was good for him.

_"If it was just a Holiday my brother was after, I wouldn't be calling you."_ Stated the colder-than-ice voice. Lestrade's jaw snapped shut.

_"The killer my brother is after is... Well. A different sort of character, I assure you. While I would usually lay in wait nearby and let this play out, He is in Surrey, and I am in London. I can't get there until later tonight. Add in the fact the man currently in charge of the investigation is refusing to give Sherlock access to even the barest of solid information, he is running on second-hand accounts only, and, Well... That puts Sherlock at quite a disadvantage."_

"You're saying he's in danger?" Lestrade now asked, all the sarcasm and bark now out of his voice. Mycroft seemed to still on the other line.

_"If he doesn't get access to what he needs before the murderer finds out about him... Yes. He will be. John as well."_

"So why don't you call him?... If I know you, you've already got the entire police file in front of you.  **Ring him up yourself."** Lestrade snapped. He was a D.I, not a bloody  _lap dog!_

Greg's snappy remark was met with awkward silence. Lestrade shifted in his driver's seat as waited for a reply. He then blinked uncomfortably as he thought back to what he said. After a moment, and a wide-eyed moment of revelation, Lestrade broke the silence.

"You really do have the entire police file, don't you?..."

_"A copy of it, Yes, but be that as it may..."_  Lestrade forcefully bit his lip to stop himself from yelling through the phone about the chain of evidence and police property...  _"You do realize we are talking about my younger brother, correct? Do you seriously believe he would accept **any**  help from me?"_

"Good point..." Lestrade grumbled back. Lestrade then took a moment to look around his car. He, of course, didn't mind helping out Sherlock. He had lent a hand more than a few times to the yard, and Lestrade always felt an odd need to look after the man... Dimmock himself liked him, even if he was to busy trying to be professional and prove himself worthy of the title of "Youngest DI at the yard" to show it.

But Donavon and Anderson would hate it... they detested Sherlock, and Sherlock detested them. There was little doubt in the DI's mind that Sherlock would make the experience as painful as possible for the two Sargent's in the back seat...

Gregory smirked.

"All right, we'll stop by Surrey... But only for an hour or so, and only to get Sherlock the information he needs or gets him out of there."

At the name,  _Sherlock_  Anderson and Donovan gave out shouts of protest, and Dimmick looked to Lestrade with a grin that he could only place as 'completely mischievous.' It appeared he had caught on to Lestrade's plot for payback. Lestrade was glad to see he was on board as well.

"But I make no promises, Mycroft..."

_"When it comes to my brother, Detective Inspector; **not**  making promises is probably for the best... I'll be in touch."_

"Of that, I have no dought," Lestrade said, as he quickly hung up his phone. The two screamers from the back seat were both saying how they refused to go anywhere near Sherlock and were pretty much listing off every one of his faults.

Lestrade just growled in his own throat. Dimmock turned in his seat and snapped back at them, Hoping to shame them into silence.

_Once again.._. He thought angrily, as his grip on the steering wheel tightened.  _I'm dealing with children... Spoiled and entitled, whining and bickering, mean-spirited CHILDREN..._

Somehow Lestrade just KNEW this day was only going to get worse. He just KNEW it.

* * *

Sherlock stood outside number 13, seething. He didn't usually give in to his emotions, especially at moments when he needed his mind clear and undisturbed to work on a case. He was willing to make an exception this time. The murders gifted to him by Wizkid95 were Interesting, unsolved, and mind-bogglingly difficult to those of lesser intelligence... More or less, Everything he could want in a case.

If only that the bloody Inspector in charge of the case wasn't blocking him at  _every corner!_  He wouldn't let him and John in the house, or go visit any of the previous crime scenes! He wouldn't even let him take  _one_  look at the file! Sherlock knew little more than every other civilian and even less than the police. Thank god for John's friendly manner and quick questions. But even with the information he had acquired, they were only armed with hear-say and rumors... No solid data or leads at all.

He might as well not be in Surrey at all, for all the good it was doing. But turning around and heading back to London now would be admitting defeat, and Sherlock wasn't about to let this case get away from him. Even if it meant he was going forward into this blind, deaf, and dumb; He was still going forward.

And damn if the fat, lazy, brain-dead idiot who was in charge was going to stop him...

It was then that a noise over to the left caught his attention, and he turned to look. He froze for about two seconds as he observed and deduced the scene.

A small family of four. All black-haired, pale, with different eyes. Textbook case of  _Toxic Family Syndrome._

Mother;  _The_   _Enabler_. A Housewife. Lets husband and Son #1 get away with everything and helps cover it up. Gossip and nag with a cruel streak. Perfectly dressed and pressed. Obsessed with appearances. A passable cook and housekeeper, but lazy. The less she has to do herself, the better. Wants everything for nothing, feels entitled to it. Long neck good for spying, a smile good for lying to your face and luring you into a false sense of security. Not very educated, but slightly clever. Possible blackmailer. Weapons of choice; Neglect, withholding of affection, and favoritism. Weaknesses; Reputation and Appearance.

Father;  _Master of the house._  Failure. An Overweight Office worker, some form of Management. The most boring and colorless suit and tie Sherlock had ever seen. Veins on face show signs of high blood pressure and constant strain from yelling, at work and at home. Bill collecting department? Abusive? Dumb as a rock and easy to read as a child's book. Was currently furious at Son #2. More than likely a drinker, but not a drunk. Weapons of choice; Verbal/Emotional abuse, extreme control, withholding of material items. Physical abuse? Weaknesses; Money, bad liar, easy to anger.

Son #1;  _Golden child_. Teenager. A young clone of the father. Student at boarding school, dumb as he is violent. New clothes, age appropriate. Dirt and grass stains already, Shoes scuffed. Obvious Bully who is definitely abusive to Son #2. Selfish also feels entitled. Doesn't care about what he has, just cares that he has it. Goes along with and believes everything his parents say and do. Agrees with it, even. Father's right hand? Weapons of choice; fists and cohorts. Bullies hunt in packs... Weaknesses; belongings, weight, blind faith...

Son #2;  _Black sheep._  Pre-teen younger than Son #1. Loner. Hand-me-down clothes from Son #1 Sherlock wouldn't give a dog to chew. Boarding school student as well, from the look of his, cared for uniform shoes under his jeans. Stick in his right pocket. Weapon? Toy? Tool? The whipping dog of the family. Not allowed to eat as much as the rest family, and not nearly enough as he needs... Scars and marks on hands show that he was still forced to cook for them, despite not feed him properly. Much smarter than Father and Son, possibly smarter than the mother. Doesn't give it to the families' game. Defies father, Embarrasses mother, challenges brother regularly. Knows that they are full of it. Scar on the forehead? Questionable. Look in eyes? Telling. Weapons of choice; Quick wit, fast legs, resourcefulness. Weaknesses; Weak body, poor self-image. Cheeks, chin, eyes not like other members. Possibly not a full son, or son at all... Cousin or illegitimate child?

Sherlock stared at the second boy as his Mother/Stepmother/Aunt started glaring and hissing at him. treating him as if he should be ashamed to be standing outside the police line like the entire neighborhood already wasn't there... Oddly enough, others around them were giving the boy the same look, as if he was guilty of some public sin. The boy ignored them all as his eyes seemed to be locked to the front door of number 13, with a sad and mournful look to them. Seems he knew Ms. Figg well.

Sherlock tried to look around to see if he could deduce more about the unfortunate boy when he suddenly turned and looked at him. Sherlock saw something that he was not expecting.  _Recognition_. The boy's eyes locked on to him and noticed him immediately. Not a passing recognition, but one that showed he knew just who Sherlock was. It was then the boy mouthed words to him from across the police line. Sherlock easily read his lips.

_"Thanks for coming, Sherlock."_

Sherlock blinked, then froze. His eyes then showed recognition back.

_Wizkid95..._

Sherlock's blood ran cold as he realized that the boy he had just been deducing was the same respectful, intelligent, talented young man he had been mentoring online the past three weeks. Wizkid had never gone into detail about his family, except for his uncle's cheating, But  _this?..._ This was not what Sherlock had expected at all.

For the first time in years, Sherlock felt pure rage.  _Wizkid_  was HIS protégé! He was NOT to be touched! Not by **Idiots**  such as those! AND HE WAS ONLY  _12!_

Sherlock quickly started compiling plans for the three greedy pigs. He easily added John into his plots, knowing already he would have his full coöperation. Sherlock now looked at other three with new-found hate in his eyes.  _Toxic Family Syndrome_ , indeed... He then quickly turned his attention back to Wizkid.

Wizkid saw Sherlock look back at him as well, and quickly move his hand in front of him, arranging his fingers.

4...

What did that mean? What the Number 4 have to do with anything?... Before Sherlock could go up to talk to Wizkid, or punch his Uncle in the face, another car pulled in. This time, it was a car Sherlock was glad to see. He grabbed John's shoulder and rushed him over to greet/bombard Lestrade.

A few moments later, when Lestrade was walking them into Number 13, Wizkid was nowhere in sight...


End file.
